Caroline

[ooc: Rescued from the cache, unfortunately the most recent entries couldn't be found ]
[OOC: This is going to be scandalous and full of libellous comments, but please bear in mind that it's meant to be a private journal and it's all in fun!]

I think it is high time that I started to keep a journal. Apart from helping me to remember things, it will also be an intimate record of my life, which I am sure will be of great interest to historians as well as ordinary people, after I am gone.

Thursday:
Last night I attended the betrothal party of some merchant, a Mr Rashidat I believe, and his lady. Well I say "lady" in the loosest possible terms, as the female in question is a very impertinent and thrusting sort of person, with no breeding or refinement. I believe she is called Phaedra Quaintly or some such outlandish name, and fancies herself a lady. What a shame she could not treat a guest such as myself with even the basic modicum of courtesy. She was extremely rude and made some very hurtful remarks about my status.
It is obvious that this marriage is doomed even before the ceremony, as the prospective bridegroom took refuge in copious amounts of alcohol and became quite disgustingly drunk; obviously in a vain attempt to blot out the less than dulcet tones of his vulgar fiancee.

I had gone along with Mr Faust, who even if he is only a merchant, at least has some manners, and had taken along an engagement gift of a pair of very fine gold candlesticks. But after Miss Quaintly's shocking display of rudeness, I took them away with me again. Such a gift would obviously be wasted on the likes of her. She would most likely have them melted down to make some hideous cherub ornaments or something equally common.

Still no word from that fat fool Minoc. He is obviously no gentleman. I am very hurt that he invited me to visit his estate and has sent not a single word since. I am still living in very cramped conditions at Beaufort, with not another person of nobility for miles around. If stupid Papa had not disowned me after that unfortunate business with Raleigh, I would return home to Britain; but it seems that I am doomed to be a houseguest for the forseeable future. I believe Cove is still single, but his estate is little more than a village in the middle of nowhere. What have I done to deserve such a miserable life? I'm sure I don't know.

Caroline

Sunday:
What a day! I had to go to the infirmary at Trinsic to collect my medicine for my nerves, and never did I need it more than I did today. When I arrived, Irvyn was in one of the beds, looking even pastier than normal, and claiming to have been attacked by some men from Cove. A very impertinent young girl was guarding him and actually had the temerity to wave a sword at me in a very alarming fashion, inferring that I was some sort of threat to him. Irvyn made absolutely no attempt to put a stop to her rudeness, and indeed it seemed to amuse him. No wonder our marriage did not last, when he shows so little respect to the woman he once claimed to love. No wonder his second wife is never to be seen, she probably has to take second place to piles of paper, now that she has done her duty and produced an heir.

I took the opportunity, since I had a captive audience, of telling Irvyn that I needed more money, since the paltry sum he gave me as my divorce settlement, is not enough to keep even the poorest peasant in tolerable comfort. The ridiculous man seemed to think that such a meagre amount was more than satisfactory, and flatly refused to discuss it any further, claiming weakness and fatigue, as usual, what a sluggard he can be at times. Really, you would think he could at least speak to me about it, since he has nothing better to do just now than loaf about in bed while others do all the work. Still, that is Irvyn all over, completely spineless and selfish. I am well rid of him.

I left the infirmary in the company of a lady who claimed to be the Trade Minister. For some reason, she seemed to think I was in need of a room for the night, but I certainly would not spend a moment in one of those rancid, flea ridden rooms at the Trinsic inns. I rode out of the city but then remembered that I had forgotten to pick up my medicine, so had to go back.
On entering the infirmary, I was confronted with an extraordinary sight. Some female with a very silly voice and the most unfeasibly large bosom I have ever seen, was there speaking to Irvyn in the most familiar terms. She seemed to me to be acting as if she was one of the family, calling Isidore her little angel, or some such sentimental nonsense.
She introduced herself to me as Lady Gwyndolyn Faintly, or Saintly or some such silly name, and actually tried to pass herself off as a Countess, which was quite laughable, since she is clearly another one of Irvyn's floozies. Goodness me, how does he do it? He is the dullest of men, with very little interesting conversation, and yet women of the lower orders flock to him like moths around a flame! He has certainly lowered his standards since we parted.
I wonder what the red headed trollop thinks of THIS new interloper. I'll wager it has wiped the smirk off her face, at any rate.

Caroline

Memo to self:
Don't forget to write to the Poste, correcting their erroneous statement about the colour of my hair. They had the gall to call me a redhead, how insulting!
I suppose I ought to go and visit Irvyn again, although he really doesn't deserve it. But it is my duty as his former wife to go and bring a little light into his life while he is on his sickbed. And I did see a rather elegant pair of earrings in the jewellers' shop next door, so I can kill two birds with one stone. I hope that ghastly woman with the enormous bosoms is not there, or I shall be very put out.

Caroline

Tuesday:I am still shaking with barely supressed rage after my inhuman treatment at the hands of those slack-jawed troglodytes laughingly known as the Duchy Guards today. I went to visit Irvyn, as I had nothing better to do and as soon as I entered the Infirmary, two of these vile creatures began insulting me. One of them even forgot herself so far as to actually lay her filthy hands on me, so of course I had to administer a slap to her insubordinate face. All the while, that pitiful excuse for a man just lay there in the bed, pretending to be in his death throes! Every day, I thank all the Virtues that I no longer have the misfortune to be married to him.
Luckily, just as the buffoons were attempting to force me to leave, that dear man Commander Jurrel arrived and came to my rescue. What a relief! He took me to his office in Minoc, where were were met by several of the townsfolk; I must say they were a huge improvement on the rabble that populates Trinsic these days. They were most respectful and appeared to be well aware that they were in the presence of a lady, and I found them delightful!
Commander Jurrel himself was, as ever, the perfect gentleman and most attentive, sparing no effort to put me at ease. He has even bespoken me a very small house in the city, which is so kind of him.
Commander Jurrel seems to be greatly taken with me, and who can blame him, after all? A gentleman in his position must be in urgent need of a wife, who can be at his side through thick and thin. Hmm, I wonder what colour is best for a second ceremony? I must send for my dressmaker and choose some samples.
I wonder if I shall see the Baron while I am staying in Minoc?

Caroline

Sunday:
I must say, the gentlemen of Minoc are certainly delightfully attentive and well mannered, if a trifle rustic. It makes a very welcome change to be treated with respect and deference, after my disgraceful treatment in Trinsic. Perhaps Irvyn could send some of his more ape-like guards here for lessons in how to behave when in the presence of their betters. They certainly need it!
A very kind gentleman made me a present of some furnishings and decorative items for my new home. He was quite aghast when I told him of my cruel and neglectful treatment at the hands of my former husband, I daresay it does seem hard to believe, especially as Irvyn was always so obsequious at Court, especially in the presence of Lord British. I wonder if I should write a book about my experiences.........

I must find out where the local caterers are, so that I can arrange an intimate dinner for the dear Commander, to show my gratitude for his great kindness to a lady in distress.
Speaking of ladies in distress, there was one in his office today; or rather a female, she seemed a little unhinged and not a person of quality. I do pride myself on being able to recognise instantly a person with good breeding, like myself. Sadly we seem to be a dying number.
This particular young woman appeared either deranged or simple-minded, possibly both. She sat in Commander Jurrel's office babbling about her family and some dreams. I hope they will take her off to the nearest asylum soon, she quite unnerved me with her ravings

Caroline

Monday.
How strange, not a word from dear Commander Jurrel for several days, and he has been so attentive thus far. I notice from the newspaper that Irvyn is attempting to ingratiate himself with the Commander, who appears to have made up his mind that Trinsic is disloyal. Well I am not at all surprised. Irvyn has made some very peculiar alliances in his time, I remember well that megalomaniac female who once ruled Nujel'm. Really, that man will do anything to toady to those he thinks are more popular. What a shame he was not kinder to me, when I was clearly loved by the people. Ah well, tis all water under the bridge now.

I have sent for my dressmaker, the Buttons girl, but she is taking a devilish long time to get here. Really, one would think she would be grateful for my continued patronage and bestir herself. Her incessant chatter and tendency to burst into tears at the drop of a hat do irritate me somewhat, but her stitching is so fine, it makes the ordeal of listening to her worthwhile. I shall give her one more day to arrive before I have to go to Trinsic looking for her, the tiresome girl.

Caroline

Monday:
I was most annoyed to read in the news that my dressmaker has been shot with an arrow by some ne'er-do-well. She was supposed to deliver my new gowns this week, so I suppose I shall have to wait now, until she is back at her work. Really, this is most inconvenient; just as I wanted to be ready for the celebrations now that the lunatic Father Antos appears to have been killed. Still, some things in life are sent to try us. I suppose I should send her some flowers, but then again, a length of cloth may be more useful, especially if I need some more clothes urgently in the future, then she will have the fabric already. And flowers really are wasted on the lower orders.

I read today that one of those frightful Quaintly women has been arrested for brawling in the street. I believe it is the vulgar, thrusting one, rather than the simpering milksop with the unfeasibly large chest. Still, bad blood will out, as they say. Good breeding is so rare these days. One would never find a lady such as myself, conducting herself in such a hoydenish manner in public.

Caroline

Sunday:
I arrived home absolutely exhausted and incandescent with rage. What had promised to be such a wonderful evening, turned into a nightmare, thanks to that vulgar harpy Quaintly. The baggage had the gall to turn up to the Commander's reception in the very same outfit as myself! What is more, rather than have the decency to take herself home to change, she decided to brazen it out, crowing that she also had a matching Earl.
Some people just have no sensitivity. Did she not realise that my dressmaker had been injured and could not get my new gowns to me in time? However, I have to say that that particular shade of red gave her cheeks an unhealthy ruddiness and certainly did not go with her (dyed) hair. She must be uncommon jealous of my own natural Britannian beauty to want to slavishly copy me at every turn, but that is what comes of living in a backwater like Moonglow, I suppose.
Now I come to think of it, wasn't she arrested the other evening? I wonder what bribes they had to give to be released so early? I hardly think people like that should be allowed to mix with people of quality in such a confined space as the Commander's office.
Anyway, I digress. I did not see dear Commander Jurrel that evening, as I had to go in search of another dressmaker; a fruitless task, as it turned out. I managed to stumble upon the home of the Earl of Minoc (I wonder what became of the Baron?) He seemed to be a most gentlemanlike man and very charming and we were having a most pleasant chat, when some female arrived, calling herself Lady Arianne Something-or-other. She was behaving in a very forward way towards the Earl, and he seemed to encourage it! Dear me, how very different from life at Court in Britain.
I returned home late, tired and disheartened. When will this intolerable life take a turn for the better?

Caroline

Friday:
Still no word from the Buttons girl about my gowns. Surely she must have recovered and be back at her work by now? Such laziness....
I decided to go to Trinsic in search of the lazy girl and my new gowns. Calling at the jailhouse, I was informed by a very insolent young man that Irvyn was upstairs, so I ventured up there and called for him. It turned out that the Quaintly female was back in jail, and he was in the cell talking to her. Really, his womanising knows no bounds, now he is reduced to hobnobbing with his floozies in prison cells.
Eventually he came out, and the woman appears to have wheedled her way out of jail by paying a fine. Hmm, no doubt they have arranged an assignation for later on in a more private setting.
Irvyn finally deigned to speak to me, but was in a very sneering sort of mood, which does not become him at all. He flatly refused to pay for my gowns, in spite of the fact that he is very well aware that I am living from hand to mouth at present. He continues to delude himself that he made me a considerable divorce settlement, no matter how many times I try to set him right on the subject. Even the Buttons girl would be hard pressed to exist on the miserable pittance he gave me, which I may add, was no compensation for the years of neglect and unhappiness he inflicted on me. I gave the best years of my life to that worm of a man, and this is my reward? I honestly do not know how I manage to carry on and survive. He would no doubt see me starving in the streets before he would lift a finger to help me.
Still, by the end of the conversation, he had agreed to pay for one gown. I shall make sure it is the midnight blue silk, since that is the most expensive. He has also offered to pay for a house near Trinsic, so that I may leave that wooden shack in Minoc. It was most kind of Commander Jurrel to give it to me, but tis no place to do any entertaining, being a very rustic and humble sort of abode.

Caroline

Monday:
A much better day today. I encountered dear Commander Jurrel in his office and we had a most companionable chat, before being rudely interrupted by the arrival of Irvyn, accompanied by one of those dreadful silent Paladins as usual. The men spoke of some dreary political matters and it seemed an age before Irvyn finally took his leave.
At this point, the Commander enquired as to the comfort of my lodgings, and took me to a much larger and more comfortable house. To my delight, he has offered me the use of this house, which used to be his ancestral home. He remains living in Britain for now, but I have invited him to join me for dinner one evening this week, which he accepted graciously. Of course we shall have to remove to Britain to more suitable accommodation once we are married. I feel sure he was about to propose, but suddenly he became very bashful and stammered that he must attend to matters of state. The dear man, so natural and unaffected, and so unlike that ridiculous womanising fop to whom I was previously shackled! He kissed my hand and took his leave, and I set about sending for someone to move my belongings to my new home.
I shall have such a grand wedding, that will show Irvyn and his army of hussies that I am not someone to be insulted and belittled!

Later:
One of the townsfolk came knocking loudly on my door this evening, to tell me that the Commander's office had been surrounded by Vesperians. Goodness me, I wonder what can be happening. I must go and take a look......

Caroline

Saturday
Good heavens! What a long time it is since I last put pen to paper. Well, apart from regularly having to write to that dreadful gutter rag, to refute their continual lies about me. Having read the latest edition, I am so enraged to read the trollop's letter in which she libels me in the most reprehensible manner. Still, what else can one expect from a common baggage of her ilk? I think I shall surprise them and not dignify it with a response, I am a gently brought up lady after all. My dear mamma always told me to make allowances for those of the lower orders, who do not have the refinement of persons of quality, such as I. They do not know any better and we must pity them. But all the same, one of these days, I will have my revenge on that uppity madam; I shall bide my time.....

Once again I have found it nigh on impossible to contact my dressmaker. From what I read in the newspaper, it would appear that the fickle girl has forgotten that she has a husband still living and is consorting with another man. I must give her a lecture on morals one of these days, to keep her on the straight and narrow. Hopefully she will take notice, and not end up like one of those dreadful hussies who plague Irvyn (although I am sure he enjoys the attention).

It was very amusing to read of the short-lived "marriage" of one of those frightful Quaintly females. I hear that the wedding cake lasted longer than the marriage, how very entertaining! Although it is a wonder that the groom managed to stay on his feet for long enough to make his vows, the man seems to be permanently intoxicated.

Caroline

Sunday

What an evenful evening. I ventured into Trinsic for my daily walk, and bumped into my "jailer" Ikus and none other than that dreadful oaf, Robert de Craon. I wonder from under which stone HE has crawled? He was very badly dressed, in cheap shop-bought clothes, which does not befit one of his rank. Still, the man has no breeding so what can one expect?
Ikus insisted that we all go to the tavern for a drink, although needless to say, I chose iced water, rather than that dreadful Blue Mage wine which they serve in those sort of common hostelries.
De Craon was telling us of his adventures; he is apparently searching for the King in all sorts of frightening places, and actually asked me to accompany him on one of these expeditions, as he needed someone with diplomatic skills. Well, of course he has asked the right person, as I am renowned for my particular finesse in that area.
However, on probing further, it would appear that he is looking for nothing more than a cook, surgeon, wood gatherer, seamstress and floozie for he and his 50 man crew. The horrid man actually had the audacity to imagine that I would demean myself to carry out such menial tasks, what on earth does he take me for?
I humoured him for a while; he did assure me that he would be as rich as a king when the adventure was over, but I have a long memory. I do not forget his boorish behaviour during that dreadful business with poor dear Colerton, and even a king's riches could not sway me. He seems to imagine that mere riches would be enough to win my affection, the ridiculous man! I would not have Twothumb with all his wealth, as he had the most unsightly table manners imaginable, so I CERTAINLY would not be able to bring myself to even imagine a marriage to de Craon. The next man I marry will be a gentleman and an aristocrat, or preferably royalty. Hmm.....I wonder if de Craon will find the King. I don't remember him having a Queen.........

Caroline

Saturday
Well there has been no word from de Craon, so hopefully the horrid man has sailed off, having found the skivvy he was looking for. I really do not know how he imagined that I would be interested in menial work of the very worst kind. Alone on a ship with him and fifty peasants, it really does not bear thinking about.

I was out for my walk yesterday evening when there was a huge commotion at the city gates. It turned out that Irvyn had somehow managed to get himself kidnapped yet AGAIN, the ridiculous man. Some people were organising a search party, so without a SINGLE thought for my own personal safety, I immediately went along and we eventually found him in a rough sort of house near Vesper.
Of course I gave him a piece of my mind, but he seemed a little dazed and didn't respond in his usual unpleasant manner, (which, by the way, I am sure he learned from the trollop, as he was never so coarse while we were married). Needless to say, he did not seem at all perturbed that I had risked LIFE AND LIMB to save him. Such ingratitude.
On our return, I then had to suffer some dreadful rudeness from some impertinent little hussy that I had never seen before. However, it is not even worth complaining to the guards about such things any more, since I am certain Irvyn has instructed them to treat me with callous disregard.
How times are changed.

Caroline

I slept late today, due to attending what was laughingly referred to as the Nujel'm Fashion Show. Goodness me, standards have certainly slipped in that city if this is what passes as fashion. I have never seen such a shower of badly dressed ne'er-do-wells in my life.
The whole event was very poorly organised with not a single model even turning up, so the very ill-mannered host was forced to ask for volunteers from the audience, and what a collection of frights they turned out to be! One of them, some very forward young female, was hardly dressed at all and appeared to be wearing nothing but her underwear. She was quite shameless about it and strutted about like some Jhelom streetwalker, making eyes at all the men.
I had reason to believe that the contest was rigged in a most blatant manner. The winner out of the motley band of so-called models was that vulgar drunkard Mr Radish Hat, or whatever his name is; and the runner up was a young woman who had blatantly copied my outfit, even down to the matching fans. It was painfully obvious though that she bought her outfit off the peg at Adventurers' Clothing. Still, tis very flattering to be copied.
Memo to self: send a letter to Irvyn to complain about that extremely insolent young madam in the guards, who was rude beyond belief to me. She was even giving him the most dreadful backchat and he did not even rebuke the impertinent little baggage.
I found myself sitting next to none other than that dreadful gossip who writes the Sunday Supplement of the Poste. She seemed to be on her best behaviour last night and I have agreed to a series of interviews to set the record straight about the aspects of my life where I have been most woefully misunderstood, as well as recounting some of my dreadful ordeals. Hopefully the remuneration will be good.